Live Like Music
by StrongatHeart
Summary: The gang enter a "Battle of the Bands" contest. Much to Brian's pleasure, as you can imagine.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Live Like Music **

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Showtime and Cowlip own Queer as Folk, because life hates me. And the title of this fic is from the song "Live Like Music" by Alexz Johnson. **

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean Babylon's not open tonight?" Brian demanded harshly, pulling his refrigerator door open with unnecessary force and glaring at the scarce amount of edible items in it.

"What, too many big words for you? _Babylon isn't open tonight. _They're renovating or something," Michael explained, rolling his eyes at his friend's attitude. As if it were entirely Michael's fault that the stupid club needed some work done to it and had to close for a week or two.

"And what am I supposed to do?" asked Brian, apparently personally affronted that whoever ran Babylon had had the nerve to close it without consulting him first.

"Justin?" suggested Michael. He could practically see Brian's frown deepen through the phone.

"Fuck you."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's on Ben's agenda for tonight," Michael smirked. "After I get back from your place, of course."

Brian made a disgusted face. "Right, well you have fun with your wife. I'll just be over here vomiting. Wait...why the hell are going to be at my place?"

"I'm coming over to work on the comic. Justin didn't tell you?"

Brian shrugged, forgetting that Michael couldn't see him, and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off his impending headache. "Maybe. I don't remember. But you better have your ass out of here by nine. I have reservations with Justin's at nine-thirty. And ten-thirty. And eleven."

Brian could practically see Michael rolling his eyes through the phone. "Nine o'clock. Got it. And tell Justin I'm extremely sorry," the Italian said somberly.

"What did you do to him?"

"Not me. I'm just sorry he has to put up with _you_ for the rest of the night." Michael knew his mission of irritating Brian had been accomplished when the only reply to this comment was the steady buzz of the dial tone.

Brian's scowl lessened slightly when he heard the loft door slide open. At least he would be having some fun tonight. Nevertheless, he slammed the refrigerator door shut with the same force with which he had opened it, and went to greet his Sunshine, who was standing in the doorway, struggling to carry his backpack, a pile of art supplies, and a handful of mail inside.

"Mmm, Brian, let me get in the door," Justin laughed against Brian's lips, trying to push the brunette off of him, which was proving difficult do to the armload he was still holding. Brian, careful only to leave Justin's lips when absolutely necessary, began relieving Justin of first his backpack, then the art supplies, then the mail, tossing each item carelessly on the floor, to be picked up later.

Brian tugged Justin the rest of the way inside, reaching over and closing the door behind him.

"There. You're in the door, now I get in you."

Now that his arms were free again, Justin managed to awkwardly push Brian off of him. "Control yourself, Kinney," he joked, slipping past the brunette to pick up his backpack off the floor and set it on the counter instead.

"What for?" asked Brian, a crease in between his eyebrows as he stared in disappointment at Justin's back.

"I have things to do."

"Such as?"

"School work? The comic?" said Justin, as though it were obvious. He began rifling through his over-crammed backpack.

"You really need to get your priorities straight, Sunshine," said Brian seriously. Justin smiled when he felt the older man's arms snake around his waist. The brunette peered over the other man's shoulder at the thin stack of papers he was thumbing through.

"Battle of the Bands?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at the blue sheet advertising the contest, which was to be held three weeks from that day.

Justin nodded absently. "Yeah, the professors handed out a bunch of papers about different upcoming competitions. There's an art one next month."

"Are you entering?" asked Brian.

Justin shrugged. "I was thinking about it."

"I'd bet you'd place at least third," Brian said honestly. Justin was surprised.

"You think so? That is... if I _can _enter. I don't know if they'll allow me to use a computer."

Though he spoke casually, Brian couldn't miss the carefully concealed dejection in his partner's voice. He felt the familiar assault of pure pain and rage overtake him for a split second, before forcing it all back. It was a wearisome cycle that he had grown accustomed to since Justin had been bashed. The unexpected reminder, the raw feelings and emotions rushing back, then the momentary strain of burying of them all in the outer recesses of his mind, where he made a point never to visit.

The older man's eyes slid over the magenta sheet of paper advertising the art competition. "Shit, look at the prize money for first place."

Justin made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. "It'd be nice. I'm thinking about submitting that one piece I did—the one with city lights in the background?"

Brian nodded. "That one was pretty good."

Justin gave his boyfriend's hand, which was resting on his chest, an affectionate pat, before slipping from his grip and heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower, then Michael's supposed to be coming over in about an hour. He's got some new Rage story lines he wanted to run by me."

Brian looked as though Justin had just told him he had turned straight. "What the fuck? I'm not invited? I need to bathe, too," he said huffily, in a tone bordering on whining.

Justin laughed. "Heard about Babylon's renovation, huh?"

Brian just glared at him.

* * *

"...so then, I was thinking JT could go and retrieve Rage's Immunity Bracelet from Midgeor, while proving his innocence to the people of Gayopolis," Michael finished, watching Justin eagerly for his reaction. He shifted positions on his space of floor next to the couch, stretching out his legs in front of him.

Justin smiled. "Brian told you about that whole thing, huh?"

"That you saved his ass and got his bracelet back from his little fucker of a nephew? Yeah, he told me."

The blond nodded. "Okay. We'll use it. Just give me some time to design Midgeor, all right? I've got a lot going on, so it might take a little longer than usual."

"Everything okay?" Michael asked.

Justin waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah. It's just school stuff. There's this contest their hosting, for art students...I was thinking about submitting a piece I already have done, but then I wondered if I should try to go for a new one altogether? Something better?"

"When is it?"

"Next month."

Michael snickered. "Maybe you should submit a Rage comic book. I guarantee you it'd win over any women and gay men who are judging."

Justin snorted. "More likely it would get me disqualified. I don't think many of the judges would be too happy to see anything remotely concerning Rage's cock down JT's throat, however hot it may be."

"They're just jealous it's not _them _with Rage's cock down their throat." Justin and Michael muffled snorts of laughter as Brian suddenly appeared from the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of jeans, newly damp hair from his recent shower plastered to his head.

"Yes, Brian, I'm sure every straight man at my school is just seething with jealousy that they've never seen your cock up close and personal."

"Damn right."

Michael rolled his eyes while Justin laughed again. "Anyway, Michael, I did a couple new drawings of Zephyr in his new costume. I wanted to see what you thought..." Justin crawled on his hands and knees a few feet away, stretching for his backpack, which had been unceremoniously flung from the counter during Brian's post-shower-Justin-assault, which involved the blond being thrown half way over the counter and fucked mercilessly from behind.

Justin withdrew a small stack of papers from his backpack. "Here."

Michael took them with a genuinely interested expression, his grin growing broader with each of the papers he glanced over.

"They're great," he said happily. "I look...I mean, _Zephyr_ looks awesome."

"Now now, Mikey, you mustn't go getting so full of yourself," Brian reprimanded him mockingly, taking a swig from the water bottle he'd retrieved from the fridge. "You're not me, though I know it must be every mere mortals' dearest dream."

"You know, Brian, one of these days your head is going to get so big, it's going to start exerting its own gravitational pull," said Michael, looking up at his egotistical friend in something akin to astonishment.

"Oh, I think it already has. That's why we're both still stuck with him. We can't escape," joked Justin, and then, _"Ow!_ Brian! Did you just throw a fucking _pencil _at me?"

"You can use it to add another couple of inches to Rage's dick. I'm almost ashamed to be the inspiration," Brian said loftily.

Justin rolled his eyes. "Brian, if Rage's dick gets any bigger, it's going to be the size of his fucking arm. Even _your _dick isn't _that _big."

"Excuse me? You _have _seen it, right?"

"Actually, I think we've been a little _too _generous so far, if you know what I mean..." Justin continued.

"No such thing."

"And it would be a real shame if you...I mean Rage...was forced to go without so much as a blow job for, say... a week or two. If JT forced him to sleep alone on his Fuckmaster 3000 couch..."

"Just try it, twat."

"Well, you did that one time."

Michael looked up from the drawing of Zephyr so fast he heard his neck creak. Rubbing it, he asked the couple curiously, "What happened? You made Brian sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah. One time I bought this really cool alarm clock..."

"That thing was a piece of shit!" Brian interrupted. _"No _normal person in their right minds would want to be woken up by a fucking police siren!"

"Shut up, Brian. Anyway, I bought this clock, right? It was red, and the numbers glowed all blue, and the alarm sounded like a cop siren... so one time, I _accidentally _forgot to turn it off on a Saturday, and it woke Brian up at six thirty in the morning, and he flung the clock across the room and it hit the wall." Justin paused to shoot Brian a filthy glare. "So I made him sleep on the couch the next night."

Brian shot Michael down as soon as the Italian turned to look at him, an incredulous expression upon his face.

"You didn't fucking _make _me sleep anywhere," Brian insisted. "That was the week you were trying that new aftershave that made you smell like shit. I wanted to escape."

"Right. Sure you did, Brian."

"I did."

"Sure."

"I_ did, _you little asshole!"

"Whatever you say, Brian."

The couple was interrupted by the sound of Michael laughing so hard he could barely breathe. At their questioning looks, Michael hastened to explain, through continued gasps.

"The two of you sound like an old _married _couple...bickering and arguing..."

Justin joined in laughing with Michael, but the latter quickly sobered up as the water bottle Brian had just been drinking from was hurtled across the room in his direction, though luckily, with the cap tightly in place.

"Asshole!" Michael called as Brian retreated once again to the bedroom. Brian flipped him off behind his back, and Michael shook his head before returning his attention to the new drawings of Zephyr.

"I like these a lot, Justin," he said sincerely. "The new uniform really does the trick...no pun intended."

Justin smirked. "I thought it was time for a new look. I mean, JT got a new hairstyle, and Rage got that new logo on his suit...I figured Zephyr deserved a makeover, too."

Michael smiled. "It's good. Why don't you put it in the next issue?" He sifted a few of the papers at the top of the stack he was holding aside, a sheet of bright blue paper catching his eye. "Hey..."

Justin didn't bother to look up from the notebook of potential story lines he was skimming over. "Huh?"

"Your school's hosting a Battle of the Bands contest?"

Justin glanced up distractedly. "What? Oh, yeah." He caught sight of the bright blue advertisement that had apparently gotten mixed in with his Zephyr drawings. "It's another one of the contests they're doing."

Michael nodded slowly. "Are you entering?"

Justin actually laughed. "Are you kidding?"

The older man looked up at him, and Justin was immediately filled with apprehension; Michael had that same look in his eyes as he did whenever he started rambling about Rage. Whatever was going through the man's head just then, Justin was sure it could not bode well.


	2. Chapter 2

It had all started that Monday morning. Justin had woken, given Brian a blow job in bed, received one in the shower, had a quick cup of coffee, and departed for school. The usual.

He hadn't given a second thought to Michael's enthused, though highly ludicrous, ramblings about the stupid _Battle of the Bands _contest all weekend, and had honestly forgotten about it by now. He had begun working on his piece for the art contest the school was hosting, and it was already taking precedence over most of his other priorities at the moment. He hadn't even started on the new Rage issue yet, had gotten an earful from Debbie for missing the weekly dinner with the family, and had even turned down Brian's invitation to top him in the shower, though the last one he knew had never had a chance of happening in the first place; Brian had only said it to pull his attention away from his piece long enough to get two sentences through to him.

He felt slightly guilty for allowing himself to become so preoccupied, but he now had less than a month to complete the new painting, and he still wasn't entirely sure which direction he wanted to take it. He almost wished he'd decided on a drawing instead; At least then he could use his computer. But he'd wanted to do a painting, and already this past weekend he'd had to stop twice far earlier than he'd wanted, due to his cramping hand.

Justin adjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder, his mind drifting back to the piece waiting for him back at the loft. It had begun to take form, though he still wasn't certain what he wanted to do with it yet. What he wanted it to say.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't even hear the voice call his name.

"Justin! _Justin!" _

He jumped when a hand closed over his shoulder.

"Jesus Chr—_Michael?" _he said shrilly, more than a little surprised to see the older man standing there at the entrance to his school. "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to stop by on the way to work," Michael said cheerfully, and Justin wondered how much coffee the man had ingested so far that morning to render him so bubbly this early. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning broadly, though Justin could find nothing whatsoever to warrant this.

The blond just stared at him. "Um...okay..."

"So, I've been thinking about what we talked about last week," Michael said, slinging an arm over Justin's shoulders in an unusual display of companionship and beginning to walk with him toward the set of doors at the front of the building.

"Right...what did we talk about?" Justin furrowed his brow in confusion, racking his brain. But it was too early to be trying to think, not to mention that they had spoken several times over the course of last week, and he honestly had no idea what Michael was talking about.

"You know, that whole _Battle of the Bands _contest," the older man reminded him. "So, I thought if we asked Ted and Emmett, and then..."

But Justin interrupted him swiftly, before he could get too far. "No, Michael... I already told you...I've just got too much to do. Besides, no one we know _actually _knows how to play an instrument...or sing...or write music..."

"But that's not true!" Michael's eyes grew round and wide as he stared imploringly at Justin. "I know how to play the guitar! And so does Brian!"

Justin snorted. "You guys played when you were my age."

"I still remember how to do it!" Michael said indignantly. "And Emmett owns a keyboard. And Ted...well...he can be like, our manager or something. Yeah, he can help keep us organized! He's good with stuff like that."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"No! But I really, really think we can do this," Michael continued as they approached the doors at the front of the school. "And, listen, Ben has this old friend who owns a drum set. I already called him, and he says we can borrow it!"

"Great. Now all we need is someone who knows how to play them, the keyboard, sing, has played the guitar in _this _century, can write music, and who doesn't have a million fucking things to do!" Justin shrugged off Michael's arm on his shoulders and pushed open one of the doors to PIFA. "Listen, Michael, if I wasn't already entering the art contest, I _might _do it. But I've just got... too much on my plate right now, all right? I've got the contest, work, school, Rage... I draw superheroes. I'm not one. I can only do so much at once."

Michael looked crestfallen, and Justin felt the rising of guilt in his stomach.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just can't," he said. "Why don't you ask someone else?"

Michael sighed in obvious despair. "Because. We need a singer."

When Justin continued to stare at him questioningly, Michael elaborated.

"Look, there's me, you, Ted, Emmett, Ben, and Brian. You know there's no chance in hell of convincing Brian to sing. Ted can't play an instrument, and he only sings that weird opera shit. Which leaves me, Emmett, and Ben. _I_ get stage fright, Ben can't carry a note to save his life, and Emmett...well, he's had an aversion to singing in public every since that incident with that manic drummer with the feather boa during karaoke night at Woody's."

Justin looked at him with pity. "Michael...I'm sorry, okay? I just can't. Not right now." He hated to do that to the man, especially when he looked so defeated, but what choice did he have? He just had too much to do.

Michael stared after him, disappointment etched in the lines of his face, as the blond turned and disappeared inside the building.

* * *

And then there was Tuesday. Apparently, Michael had Justin's same inherent inability to take no for an answer.

"I didn't fucking order this!"

Justin bit his tongue to keep from retorting, rolling his eyes before turning back around to deal with the rude customer. "Sorry...what did you order again?" he said in a voice of forced calm.

"I ordered a cheeseburger!" said the customer, a middle-aged man with a graying mustache.

"Sorry, it'll be right up," said Justin, picking up the plate with the chicken that he'd set down in front of the man.

"And fucking hurry it up, I haven't got all day. I ordered a Goddamn cheeseburger, and I fucking want it _now."_

"I'd be watching my fucking cheeseburger intake if I were you. You look like you're about ready to blow as it is. And not in the good way."

Justin disguised his laugh at Debbie's remark with a cough as she passed him and the disgruntled cheeseburger man. She winked at him as he turned to take the plate back and get the man the correct food.

"Speaking of cheeseburgers...when's the last time you ate, Sunshine? Those pants are fucking huge," said Debbie in a low voice a few minutes later, gesturing at Justin's jean-clad lower half, as he attempted to balance several hot plates of food on one tray.

Justin snorted. "They're Brian's, that's why. I couldn't find a clean pair of mine that didn't have holes in them today, so I took a pair of his. Even my belt can barely hold them up," he complained, trying to yank up the pants with one hand while still balancing the tray in the other.

Debbie, thankfully, saw his struggle, seized the hems of the jeans around the hips, and did it for him.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Speaking of not mentioning things...don't tell him about the pants, please?" Justin asked.

"Then I'd get behind the counter if I were you."

"Huh? Oh shit..."

Justin, still carrying the tray, hastily slipped behind the counter, as Brian, followed by Michael, Ted, and Emmett, pushed open the door to the diner.

The place was crowded, and the nearest empty booth was a little ways back. Far enough that Justin managed to bring the tray of food to the impatiently waiting customers and duck back behind the counter without Brian noticing the pants.

"Oh, _waiter!" _

Justin gritted his teeth, silently cursing Emmett, as the man waved a hand, beckoning him over. Brian shifted in his seat, cutting short a conversation with Michael, as he turned to look at the blond, and Justin knew he was screwed.

"Who do you have to fuck to get some service around here?" Brian asked loudly as Justin meekly made his way over to the group.

"Keep your pants on," Debbie barked as she hurried by with several coffees for the booth next to them. Justin glared at her as she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering a little longer than strictly necessary on Brian's jeans.

"Where's the fun in that?" Brian asked, prompting most of the table to roll their eyes. Justin, however, just grinned.

"What can I get you?"

Ted and Emmett ordered quickly, having already made up their minds for once, Michael deliberated over two or three different things, and Brian didn't bother to order at all, as Justin already knew what he'd end up ordering anyway.

"It'll be right up," Justin promised, but as he turned to go, he felt a gentle tug around his hips as a finger hooked into his belt loop and pulled, holding him back.

"Are those my pants?"

Justin turned back around to face his boyfriend, cringing on the inside, but keeping his face deliberately impassive. "Maybe."

Brian arched an eyebrow. Justin could never figure out how he did that. Just the one eyebrow. It must be a weird Brian thing.

"Why the fuck are you wearing my pants?"

"I couldn't find a clean pair of mine."

Justin waited impatiently as Brian cocked his head a little to the side, apparently deep in thought. He scratched his chin, appearing to come to a conclusion.

"Wear those tonight. You look hot in them."

Justin could only assume that Brian meant that the _idea _of him wearing the brunette's clothes was hot, as the pants themselves were about ready to fall off of him, and in his opinion, he looked rather ridiculous. Not at all like when he wore his usual muscle-hugging jeans, that squeezed him in all the right places. But hey, if Brian thought they were hot on him...well, it was a lot better than having to suffer through an angry queen-out for stealing his clothes.

Justin smiled suggestively and turned to go, wanting to give a little wiggle of his hips to tease his boyfriend, but afraid that if he did, the over-sized pants would end up around his ankles.

A little while later, he was back at their table, carefully setting food in front of their greedy eyes. He grinned when Brian squeezed his ass through the jeans, and laughed when Ted and Emmett reached over to pinch his buttocks playfully.

Brian, who was sitting opposite them, shot them a filthy glare. "Hands off."

"Oh, sorry Brian. We didn't realize you were the jealous type."

Justin, Michael, and Ted all looked expectantly at Brian, waiting for the inevitable response to Emmett's jibe.

Brian took a sip of his drink, obviously trying to appear dignified and unconcerned. "I don't do jealous. I just don't want your filthy hands all over him. Fuck knows where they've been."

"That...and you're jealous. But it's all right. We won't tell anyone how possessive you are," said Emmett. But Brian was no longer paying attention, his tongue having become rather preoccupied with shoving itself down Justin's throat.

"At least have the decency to do it in a bathroom or something," muttered Ted, as Justin reciprocated by squeezing Brian's cock. Justin pulled back, effectively breaking their kiss, and straightened up.

"I got to get back to work. I'll see you guys later," he said, apparently deciding to ignore Ted's comment, and leaning over to give Brian one last affectionate peck on the lips.

"Oh, Justin! Have you thought anymore about...you know..." said Michael, giving him a look thick with meaning.

"About...?" A crease formed in between Justin's eyebrows as he looked questioningly at Michael.

"You _know..._" the older man said impatiently. "That _thing _we were talking about?"

Justin just looked at him, along with everyone else at the table, their interest obviously captured.

"Oh you know what I'm talking about! That _thing..._oh fuck it, the Battle of the Bands contest!"

Suddenly Justin knew exactly why Michael had refused to come right out and say it. His mysterious wording had effectively piqued the curiosity of everyone at the table, who were now all ears.

A sharp gasp followed by a high-pitched squeal made Justin wince.

"_Ooh ooh!_ Battle of the Bands? Oh my God, I want to join!" said Emmett, clapping excitedly and practically bouncing up and down in his seat.

"_Ooh ooh!_ So do I!" said Brian. Justin, Michael, Ted, and Emmett all turned to look at him, their mouths agape.

"_Really?" _asked Justin in disbelief.

"Fuck, no. Christ, look at your faces," laughed Brian, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich.

Justin rolled his eyes. "Thanks a fucking lot, Michael," he said, trying to ignore Emmett's ramblings to Ted about the most eye-catching rocker wardrobe. "Look, there's not going to _be _a contest. At least not for us. At least, not for me."

Emmett stopped mid-rant, his face falling. "Oh, baby, why not?"

"I have too much to do as it is. Besides, I don't play an instrument, I can't sing..."

"Not to mention it's the most fucking ridiculous idea I've ever heard," added Brian. Michael glared at him.

If the Italian man had looked disappointed yesterday, it was nothing as to how Emmett looked now. "Oh, but...it would be so much fun! Come on, you can find the time for _fun, _can't you?"

"Look, I'm sorry," said Justin, wanting to hit Michael. Hell, Brian had done it, why couldn't he? "But I told you, Ican't. I just don't have time."

And before any of them could say anything else, Justin had stormed off with the slightly icy explanation that he had to get back to work.

* * *

Skip to Friday...

"Come on! Why the fuck not?"

Justin actually growled in annoyance. He was becoming increasingly certain that if he happened to snap and, say...kill Michael... any judge on the planet would surely sympathize. He was only human, after all. One man could only take so much. And between Michael and Emmett, who had taken to calling Justin four times a day and begging him to reconsider his decision, Justin had just about reached the end of his rope.

The aggravated blond gritted his teeth together, his voice carefully controlled when he spoke, his hands gripping the edges of Brian's stainless steel counter-tops unnecessarily tight. "I told you already, Michael... _One, _I'm already entering the art contest, which is taking up enough of my time as it is..._two,_ I don't know _how _to play a fucking instrument..._three..."_

"But _I _do!" Michael cut him off. "I played guitar for years, and so did Brian! I told you that."

Justin looked over at the older man wearily. "What the hell is it going to take to get you to shut the fuck up?"

Michael considered this thoughtfully. "You saying yes."

Justin moaned and slumped over the counter, his head buried in his arms.

"Oh, come on, Justin! It'll be fun!" Michael continued relentlessly.

Justin lifted his head, staring at his friend in disbelief. "No, you know what would be fun? Throwing myself out that window. Or, even more fun...throwing _you _out that window..."

"Ooh, see! That could be a lyric for a song! Yeah, _I will throw myself out the window, if you won't join the show..."_

Justin raised an eyebrow.

"Or something like that!"

"Look, Michael..." Justin began for the umpteenth time since the older man had gotten hooked on this _Battle of the Bands _obsession that was bordering on a week now. "Even if I _did _say yes, it's Battle of the _Bands..._and in case you didn't notice, we'd have you, me, and Emmett...one person who played guitar fifteen years ago and refuses to sing in front of people, one that doesn't know the first thing about music, and one who's going to dress us up like fucking _Tinkerbell _if we let him have his way...in other words, we _have _no fucking band."

"But...no, listen!" Michael insisted when Justin rolled his eyes and slumped back over the counter. "I told you, we have the drums. Ben can play those, I already talked to him about it..._ I_ still remember at least the basics on how to play the guitar...Emmett has a keyboard, and he's already dying to join...and if you just convince Brian to join, too...

"You're shitting me, right?"Justin asked skeptically.

"Please?"

"Shut up."

"Please, Justin?"

"Fuck _off!" _

"Please?"

"Shh! Shut up!"

"But--"

"No, that's the phone, you freak. Shut up a second."

"Oh." Michael had the decency to look sheepish as Justin went to answer the phone, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter while he waited, barely listening to the side of the conversation he could hear, until he heard Justin's vehement exclamation.

"What?! Why the fuck are they--"

Michael's head jerked up, looking at Justin with questioning eyes. The blond, he noticed, looked crushed.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay...no I get it. Okay...thanks...bye." And he hung up.

"What happened?" Michael asked, genuinely concerned. Justin sighed, flopping over the counter again, his head hitting the hard surface with a heavy thunk.

"What? What's going on?" Michael demanded, beginning to get worried. Justin lifted his head up, running his hands through his hair, and sighing heavily.

"That was Josh...he's this guy I know from school. He's in most of my art classes, and he was entering the contest, too," explained Justin.

"And...?"

Justin groaned, dropping his chin into his hands. "It's been fucking canceled."

"What? How come?" Michael asked.

Justin shrugged. "Lack of funding. There's not enough people entering to gain back what they'll end up spending. They have to pull out now. Cut the costs and move on."

"But...what about the other contests?"

"They're still on," said Justin bitterly. "I think Josh said something about a photography one almost getting cut. It still might, apparently."

"So...what are you going to do?" asked Michael. The blond looked so disappointed...he couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him.

"I dunno. Nothing, I guess. What can I do?"

Suddenly, Michael's face brightened, but Justin was too busy playing with the edge of a scrap of paper of one of his sketchbooks to notice.

"Justin..."

"I mean the decision's final. I can't do anything about that. Maybe I'll just keep working on my piece, and see if it fits the requirements for any of my projects coming up..." Justin continued obliviously.

"Hang on, Justin..."

"If not...I don't know. Maybe I'll finish it when I get the chance, and just keep it. Or give it to Brian. He said he wanted a new painting for his office..."

"Fuck, Justin, shut up and listen!" Michael snapped, effectively bringing the younger man out of his musings. Justin jumped in surprise at his sharp tone.

"What?"

"You can join me now! The Battle of the Bands contest, remember!? Now you have no excuse...come on, please?"

"If you mention that fucking contest one more time..." Justin began.

"You'll what?" Michael challenged.

"I'll tell Brian how you got marinara sauce all over his new Armani suit," Justin said smugly.

"But that wasn't my fault! If my mom hadn't..." began Michael. But Justin just shrugged, smirking.

Oh _right,_ Michael thought, this was Brian Kinney they were talking about. And things such as logic didn't ordinarily come into play in Brian's universe. He tended to have more of a "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude about things. In other words, he was fucked.

"Well...if you tell him that... I'll tell him what happened to that one pair of Prada shoes he had. I seem to remember it involving a Pitt bull, a police officer, and that old lady with that tattoo that said..."

"Well if _you _tell him that, I might just slip and mention who's idea it was to carve "Rage" into his dresser drawer. He still doesn't know that's there, by the way..." Justin said thoughtfully.

"Well maybe _I'll _tell him it was you who told that trick that was cruising him that he had fucking _anal warts..."_

"And maybe _I'll _tell him it was you who introduced _Melanie_ to Lindsay in the first place...if you hadn't, we wouldn't even know Mel, and you know how well she and Brian get along..."

Michael froze. "You wouldn't."

"Are you prepared to test that theory, Mr. Novotny?" Justin asked loftily.

Michael glared at him. "Well..." he began in a low, deadly voice. "Maybe I'll just happen to slip and tell him you said that gray shirt he bought makes him look fat."

Justin gasped. "I didn't say that! Besides, Brian never looks fat in anything!"

"Doesn't matter. And you know nothing you say to him about me can measure up to a 'fat' insult. And even if it did, what's the worst he can do? Not talk to me? Whereas for you...well, you lose out on blow-jobs, morning fucks, rim-jobs..."

"But I never fucking said that!"

Michael shrugged, grinning when Justin just stared at him; he could practically see the wheels turning in that blond little head.

"I fucking hate you."

But Michael didn't seem to care.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

"Sunshine, have you finally lost your mind? I mean I knew it would happen eventually...I told you paint wasn't edible..."

"Brian, just listen for a minute... I know it's not really your thing, but I think if you just came to _one_ rehearsal..."

"Shit, Mikey, you too? What happened? Debbie finally smacked you in the head one time too many, didn't she?"

"Will you shut the fuck up and listen?!" Justin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was definitely going to be spending some time and energy coming up with an appropriate act of revenge against Michael for all this. Apparently, the man had embellished a few of his "Guitar-God" stories he'd been feeding Justin all week. Turns out, he sucked at solos, could nail all of about two bar chords successfully, and had lost both his electronic tuner and his ability to tune by ear over the years.

"Come on Brian," pleaded Michael, bringing out the big guns and turning pathetically round chocolate eyes on his best friend. "What could be more fun than spending a few weeks living the life of a budding rock-star with all the people you care most about in the world?"

Brian stared at him evenly. "_One:_ falling off a building into a vat of boiling acid. _Two:_ sawing my arm off with a butter knife._ Three:_ fucking Theodore. Four..."

"All right, I get it," interrupted Michael crossly. "Christ. But I really think you'd have fun."

Brian laughed harshly. "You also thought a Captain Astro fan club would be fun when you started that one in the eighth grade."

"Hey, you joined that!"

"I felt sorry for you. You were simultaneously the President, Vice President, Secretary, and Treasurer...not to mention the only member..."

Justin hid a snicker. Maybe he could use some of this embarrassing material in his revenge scheme...

"Look, that's not even...fuck, Brian, come on! Please join with us? You love playing the guitar," Michael pointed out, reverting to what he did best: whining. The man had his tactics.

Brian looked annoyed. "I barely even remember how to play the fucking thing."

"Yeah, right. You know you can do it just as well as you always did."

Brian rolled his eyes, grabbing a half empty bottle of water off the counter and turning to leave. "Sorry, the answer's no, boys," he said over his shoulder. "Looks like you're going to have to play rock-star all by yourselves. I'm off to the gym." And with that, he was gone, the loft door sliding shut with a bang.

Michael huffed a sigh and leaned back against the counter.

"Did you really expect anything different?" Justin asked, but the other man ignored him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded instead.

"What?"

"You didn't even try to convince him!"

"I asked him to join..." began Justin.

"Yeah, and then left me to do all the rest of the talking," Michael complained.

"Do you really think anything I said would've made a difference?"

"You're his boyfriend," Michael grumbled. "If anyone can do it, you can. You can get him to do stuff other people can't, and you know it."

Justin rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that shit. You know Brian...if he doesn't want to do something, he's not going to do it, and nothing anyone says is going to change his mind."

Michael glared at him for a moment, before all the fight seemed to drain out of him, and he groaned. "Shit. I know. Well...I guess we can always give a try with the five of us."

"So...we'll have you on guitar...Ben on drums..." said Justin, beginning to tick them off his fingers. "Emmett on the keyboard...but we've got to give Ted something other than 'manager'..."

"Mmm...how about song-writer?" Michael suggested.

Justin nodded, mulling it over. "Yeah...he might be good at that. But if we're really going to do this, I think we should all write a song and bring it to the first rehearsal. That way we can see who writes the best."

"Okay. And then we've got you as the singer," finished the older man. Justin frowned.

"About that...I'm not sure if making me being singer's such a good idea..."

"Why not?" asked Michael. "You can sing, you're good-looking, you do fine in front of crowds..."

"Okay, I'll give you the crowd point...and the good-looking thing, of course...but you've _never _heard me sing," Justin pointed out. "How would you even know if I suck?"

"You sing every morning in the shower," said Michael, as though it were obvious. "Lots of _Kid Rock_ and _Paramore_, but sometimes you go for a little _Boys Like Girls..._ironically."

Justin stared at him, half convinced he had either a psychic or a stalker on his hands. "How the _hell _do you know that?"

"Brian...might've mentioned it in passing," Michael shrugged.

Justin shook his head. "I'm going to kill him."

"He says you're pretty good, though."

"He said that?"

Michael nodded.

Justin bit his lip. The idea that Brian thought he was good would not change anything. Battle of the Bands was still a stupid idea.

Just maybe a little less stupid than before.

"Look, Brian's letting us use the loft for practice...you want to call everyone over here tonight?" the blond suggested.

"Okay. You call Emmett, I'll call Ben and Ted."

"Oh no!" protested Justin immediately. "No, you are _not _sticking me with calling Emmett. I don't have time to be stuck on the phone for an hour and a half listening to him argue Boy Band clothes versus Rocker gear. No way. _You're _calling Emmett."

As Michael removed his cell phone from his pocket, grumbling darkly, Justin smiled to himself. It wasn't exactly the great act of revenge he'd had in mind, but it was a start.

* * *

"Okay, everyone...welcome to our first ever...um...band meeting thing," said Michael importantly. Justin, Ben, and Ted just stared at him, but Emmett clapped enthusiastically. Michael grinned.

"Okay, so...first order of business...uh..." the appreciative grin turned into a thoughtful frown.

"Why don't we pick out a name?" Ben spoke up.

"Yeah, good idea!" Michael looked grateful. "Any ideas?"

"How about..._The Flaming Phantoms?"_ proposed Ted.

"Or _Thumpa, Thumpa,"_ said Emmett.

"_The_ _Babylonians." _

"_The Astro's." _

"We're not naming this band after Captain Ass-Wipe."

"_Astro!" _

This lasted for at least another fifteen minutes, with each of them calling out whatever happened to come to mind. They had come up with some truly ridiculous names; Emmett had suggested they call themselves the _Pink Penguins;_ Ted thought that the name _Calculus _would capture their style perfectly; while Michael thought the name ought to inspire 'courage and individuality'...such as he apparently thought _The Astro's _did. Justin listened, making a few comments in favor or opposition to a name here and there, but mostly keeping quiet.

During one of his wandering lapses of attention, Justin noticed his boyfriend, who had returned from the gym about a half an hour ago, watching from the bedroom as the group called out potential names at random. His eyes followed interestedly as Brian crossed the bedroom, walked silently down the stairs, and came to stand behind Ben and Michael on the couch.

"_Lost Dance,"_ Brian said simply, surprising Justin, making Michael jump, and effectively cutting off Emmett's renewed rambling. "Call it _Lost Dance."_

"_Lost Dance..." _Ben tried the name out on his tongue. "I like it."

"Musical...band-ish...I like it too," agreed Ted. Justin rolled his lips into his mouth, searching Brian questioningly from across the room, but the brunette didn't look at him.

"All in favor of naming the band _Lost Dance, _raise your hand," said Michael, lifting his own hand into the air. Without hesitation, Ted, Emmett, and Justin's hands joined his, the young blond's eyes still on his boyfriend.

"Okay then," said Michael happily. "Now that that's taken care of...I thought we'd go over what we're each doing, just so we're all clear what our part is."

"I'm doing the keyboard, right?" Emmett asked hopefully. "Ooh, and I can be in charge of wardrobe!"

Michael's uncertainty was written clearly on his face. "Um, yeah Em...you're on the keyboard. And I thought we'd put you _and _Ted in charge of wardrobe..."

"Yay! Oh this is going to be so much fun!" he squealed happily. Ted grinned forcibly, though it came off as more of a grimace.

"And I've got my guitar..." Michael ignored Justin's snort and continued. "And Ben's on the drums."

"What about you, baby?" Emmett piped up, looking over at Justin. "What are you going to do?"

"He's going to be singer," said Michael before Justin could answer.

"Hmm," Emmett cocked his head to the side, looking the blond over carefully. "All right, I can see it. You've got the right look. Blond hair, blue eyes...you're everyone's dream boy."

"Maybe Mikey will even let you borrow his leather pants. I'm sure that'll earn you some fans," Brian said, smirking.

"Not the kind of fans we're looking for," said Michael sternly, glaring at his friend.

"Look, though..." said Justin, sighing, "I'd feel a lot better about being the singer if I heard everyone else sing first."

"You heard the man. Theodore. Sing. Now," Brian ordered flippantly.

"Uh...'O say can you see? By the dawn's early..."

"Theodore. Silence."

Ted immediately shut up.

"All right, now let's hear you, Mikey."

"No fucking way."

"Honeycutt, your turn. And nothing from _The Sound Of Music, _or I'll throw you under a bus," Brian said threateningly. Emmett muttered something indistinguishable.

"What was that?" asked Brian.

"I don't really know any other songs," he mumbled.

Brian rolled his eyes. "Perfect. Professor?"

"I think I'll have to side with Michael, and go with 'no fucking way' on this one," said Ben, looking only remotely apologetic.

"Back to you, Sunshine," said Brian airily.

"Why are you suddenly so interested in this?" Justin narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not," Brian assured him. "But the sooner the four of them fuck off, the sooner we can fuck."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the older man, Justin opened his mouth hesitantly, and sang. After a few versus, he stopped, blushing.

"Wow. Not bad, Justin," commended Ted after a moment.

"You'll be perfect," Emmett gushed.

"I told him so," Michael said childishly. "So, that's decided then. We all know what part we have in this."

"But what about you, Bri?" asked Justin, turning to his boyfriend, fixing him with a firm, pleading Sunshine stare.

Brian snorted. "Not fucking likely," and he turned and swept from the room into the kitchen. Justin made a mental note to practice his trademark _'Pleading Sunshine Stare'_ later on in the mirror...he just wasn't getting the same results he used to. Perhaps it was time to crank up the irresistibility a notch.

"Anyway," continued Michael, one eye still on Brian's back in the next room. "As for the songs... I thought we could all write something and then bring it up at our first rehearsal..."

A few questions, decisions, and exchanges of information later, Michael declared their meeting adjourned, and filed out of the loft with Ben, Ted and Emmett just behind them.

"Is it over?" Brian poked his head out from the bedroom, where he'd retreated once again.

"It's over," Justin assured him, flopping on the couch. "Thank God."

Brian came over to sit beside him, pressing him against the armrest. "You know, there's this thing called _quitting,"_ he said, hands already halfway up Justin's shirt and forcing him gently on his back. "It's allowed in desperate situations. Tell Michael you don't want to do it anymore."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Not exactly able to tell Brian the real reason he was participating, Justin decided to go with a response his boyfriend could understand. "I told him I'd do it. A deal's a deal."

Brian made a noncommittal noise in his throat, as his lips found Justin's neck.

"Brian? I've got a question for you..."

"The answer's 'yes.'"

"'Yes?'"

"Well, you were going to ask if you could suck my dick, right?"

Justin scowled, hitting Brian on the arm. "Actually, asshole, I was going to ask about your 'Lost Dance' name... where'd that come from?"

Brian's mouth stilled on Justin's newly uncovered collar-bone. "Musician's never reveal their tricks, Sunshine."

"That's _magicians," _said Justin. "So, where'd it come from?"

"What can I say? I'm a musical genius."


End file.
